


The New Avengers in Canada

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Category: New Avengers (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: Collection of shorts. Set in and around the four Canadian episodes of "The New Avengers" to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the series' sojourn across the pond.





	1. Sweating It

**Author's Note:**

> 2017 marks the 40th anniversary of the conclusion of The New Avengers. The exact cause of its demise is still somewhat unclear. The cast and crew travelled to Toronto to film what was intended to be seven episodes in exchange for Canadian financial backing, but production sputtered to a halt after only four had been completed. There were other mooted ideas, but these never reached fruition, and though attempts to revive the series for a third season continued throughout the seventies and into the early eighties, the Canadian episodes proved to be the end of The New Avengers, and to this day the end of new episodes of The Avengers on television.
> 
> The Canadian episodes have been much-maligned, and indeed they do not constitute the series' strongest run of episodes. But there are bright spots, namely the very enjoyable Forward Base and pockets of Complex and Emily and even The Gladiators, all of which have some excellent exchanges and dynamics between the leads. As 2017 marks 40 years since the series' second season and Canadian sojourn, as well as the 150th birthday of the home and native land of Sydney Newman, Linda Thorson, and (for much of the 1950s) Patrick Macnee, I thought it would be fun to do a set of short stories revolving around Steed, Purdey, and Gambit's extended North American sojourn.  
> \---------

Gambit could feel the sweat trickling between his shoulderblades, even as he set the oversized bottle of water on the convenience store counter. How on earth had he forgotten not just how hot, but how bloody humid Toronto got in the summer? As he'd told Purdey, this wasn't his first visit to Canada, or to the country's largest city. He'd known that the whole "Great White North" byline went out the window as soon as the planet tilted the right way. But the last time he was in this city, in the summer, he was 21, an age when the heat just sort of rolled off the body as one bounded through life at the fastest clip one could. This was a sign he was getting old, he supposed.

The girl behind the counter, on the other hand, had long ago learned her lesson, and was suitably attired in a pair of short shorts and a tank top that barely-registered in his dehydrated state. She quirked an eyebrow at his rolled up shirtsleeves in an expression that universally translated as, "What kind of idiot are you?" Gambit grinned sheepishly and set about fishing some brightly-coloured, albeit slightly damp, Canadian money from his wallet.

He looked to his left while the girl counted out his change, and caught sight of Steed, perusing his copy of the "Toronto Star." The pit stop was for Gambit's water alone, but Steed had suggested that they may as well all climb out of the rented TR7 and stretch their legs while they had a chance. Steed's wardrobe hadn't adjusted a jot for their jaunt across the pond—three piece suit, Chelsea boots, bowler, and brolly were all accounted for, but not a drop of sweat had broken out across the man's brow. Gambit wondered idly if the man had an air-conditioner built into his hat, chalked the musing up to a fever dream, and then vowed to listen out for humming when they got back to the car.

Gambit accepted his change from the still-unimpressed girl and nodded his thanks. He took his water and did a quick about-face at the sound of a tell-tale slurp as Purdey chased the dregs of the milkshake she'd cheerfully decided she wanted about a half-hour ago. She was idly eyeing up the ketchup crisps, which she'd had so many of already he was surprised her entire mouth wasn't permanently dyed red, and wearing a flimsy summer dress that he unfortunately wasn't in shape to appreciate. Her and her strappy heels certainly weren't suffering in the heat, the milkshake having undoubtedly brought her temperature down a degree or two. She turned his way as he approached, water in hand, and said, "I can pour that over your head if you like."

"Thanks, but I can always jump in the lake if I get that desperate."

"That was my next suggestion," Purdey said cheerfully. "Steed, shouldn't we be going?"

Steed looked up from his newspaper and checked his watch. "Yes, indeed," he agreed. "Are you still up to driving, Gambit?"

Gambit, who was busy fantasising about his nicely-sealed hotel room and seriously considering entering into a committed relationship with its air-conditioner, watched his colleagues file out. He took a long pull of water and decided that, until his brain quit boiling, he hated them rather a lot.

Later, in a blessedly cool pub, Gambit rested his head in his folded arms, as Purdey observed, "It's taking rather a long time to get our drinks, isn't it?"

"As long as they leave the air-con on, they can take as long as they like," Gambit mumbled into his arms.

"A/C, Gambit," Purdey corrected. "They call it A/C here."

Gambit made a noise that it made it quite clear to Purdey he didn't much care what it was called. "Well, see if I ever go with you to the Bahamas," she sniffed.

It took Gambit the better part of an hour to shift the image of Purdey in a bikini out of his head after that, but at least it got him smiling again. It was the little things, after all.


	2. Eat the World

"You're sure you don't want anything?"

Gambit regarded Purdey over the top of his copy of the "Toronto Star". "No thanks. I had a pie earlier."

Purdey snorted as she balanced the takeaway container on her knee, then fished into the seemingly-bottomless Mary Poppins-esque paper bag at her feet. "Trust you to fly all the way across the Atlantic, to a city home to practically every kind of food known to man, and decide to have a pie." Her disgust in his lack of culinary adventurousness was evident.

"It was a good pie," Gambit defended, taking a sip of his coffee before returning it to the bench beside him. "Tim Horton's" of course—they were bloody everywhere. The whole city, including Canadian intelligence, seemed to run on it. He'd had trouble seeing the appeal, but it was hot and convenient, and he'd fallen into the habit of ordering that "double-double" thing everyone seemed so keen on—two sugar, two cream. Normally he took his coffee back, but the women at the counter seemed particularly tickled whenever he said it in his accent, so he saw no reason to disappoint them.

"Well, you'll pardon me if I try to be a little more adventurous," Purdey was saying, cutting into his inner caffeine-related monologue. She opened the Styrofoam clamshell on her lap and proceeded to attack the contents with a plastic fork and knife.

Gambit lowered his paper a little more so he could examine her dish. "Right, because there's nowhere to get a curry at home."

"It's from Kensington Market!" Purdey exclaimed indignantly around a mouthful of chicken.

"That makes a difference, does it?"

"The owner was from India."

"My pie man was from England."

"Oh, never mind. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Purdey chewed irritably for a moment, then seemed to relent. "I have some Jamaican things as well, if you do get hungry," she offered.

"From a bloke from Jamaica, of course," Gambit surmised.

"No, Australia as it happens," Purdey informed, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She looked up from her food for a moment as a thought occurred to her. "Are either of us actually looking for our contact?"

"I hope so," Gambit muttered, quickly flicking his gaze back to the constant to-and-fro of commuters that flowed in and out of Toronto's Union Station on their daily basis. "Speaking of flying all the way out for a pie—we didn't have to come out here to wait for trains, either."

"But these are Canadian trains," Purdey pointed out.

"I don't think the British ones could make it across the Atlantic."

"Gambit, where's your sense of adventure? I thought you liked travelling the world. Isn't that why you joined the Navy?"

"One of the reasons," Gambit answered vaguely. "But I used to go exploring when we were in port, not sit and watch the traffic."

"When you weren't in a prison cell, no doubt," Purdey opined, having magically produced a bag of egg rolls. Gambit didn't bother to ask after their providence.

"It's touching to know you have such a high opinion of me," he replied flatly. "You know, you could have stayed and helped Steed with his fact-finding. I'm sure he'd love something from your bag of tricks."

Purdey shuddered. "No thank you. I'm not spending a minute longer in a Canadian intelligence building than is strictly necessary. I feel as though they're all watching me. Besides—" She picked up one of the sections of Gambit's paper. "—Steed doesn't have a newspaper I can steal."

Gambit sighed. "I should have known. Do you want my coffee as well?"

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "Has Tim Horton's started adding vodka to their brew?"

"Not last time I checked."

"Then no thank you. Here, I'll trade you sports for arts and culture."


	3. An Evening Out

If there was one thing John Steed hated, it was being late. And the only thing that made it worse was when it was a lady he was keeping waiting.

He’d known he was pressing his luck the moment he stepped into the cab, but his heart sank dramatically as his ride snared itself in traffic at the intersection of Yonge and Dundas. After spending five precious minutes he didn’t have at a standstill, he paid his fare and took on Yonge Street on feet fleeter than tyres.

A quick turn down Shuter and then a jaunt down Victoria brought him to his destination, the legendary Massey Hall, only mildly ruffled, and the man at the door took his ticket and ensured him he’d arrived just in time.

The usher guided him down the aisle, and Steed doffed his bowler apologetically at the patrons who rose from their seats to enable his passage down the row, toward the woman currently perusing a program. He reached her just as the lights went down, and settled into his seat in haste. “I’m extremely sorry I’m late, my dear. Events took a rather unexpected turn.”

The woman looked up and smiled beatifically. “Steed!” Tara King greeted, earning a shush from the patrons next to her. She ignored them and threw her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Steed returned the hug with a smile of his own. Tara had lost none of her natural warmth and vivaciousness over the years, and he was glad for it. “I’m honoured you invited me. It would have been a dreadful shame if we’d both been in Toronto and not managed to arrange a rendezvous. Which is why I must apologise once more for nearly scuppering the whole evening before it even began.”

“Oh, never mind that,” Tara dismissed, pulling back and regarding him with unbridled joy. Her now-long hair had been piled onto her head in an elaborate updo, but her face was as fresh and youthful as he remembered. “What was it this time? Killer robots? A sleeper cell up the CN Tower?”

“A Russian base under Lake Ontario, as it happens.”

“Oh, that old one,” Tara said wryly. “Are you sure they can spare you?”

“Just about. I left Purdey and Gambit to tidy things up.”

“And they have things in hand?”

“When I left them, they were squabbling about where to go to dinner,” Steed revealed with a knowing smile. “So I think we can safely relax this evening, without any distractions.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the Hall was plunged into total darkness, and a shrill scream emanated from the balcony above.

Tara and Steed sat in silence for a moment. Then Steed said, “My dear, do you still carry that brick in your handbag?”

“Not since 1967,” Tara replied. “I find a gold plated pistol more useful most days. But I’m still quite capable of getting my hands dirty.” 

Steed grinned in the dark. “Excellent.”

“Should we call Purdey and Gambit, have them help?”

“I promised them some time off. And it is our evening out, after all. What do you say, Miss King? Do you fancy some exercise before dinner?”

“More than anything!”

The next morning over breakfast, neither Purdey nor Gambit bought Steed’s innocent protestations that the article in that morning’s “Star” had nothing to do with him. “You can’t go anywhere, can you?” Gambit teased over the rim of his coffee cup. “And I hope you don’t want that for your scrapbook. Purdey’s after the crossword.”


	4. Mi Casa

To Purdey, it seemed as if she’d scoured half the city, from Front Street to Bloor, without avail. Steed didn’t know where he was, and neither did the Canadian intelligence people, who said he’d filed his report for London and then begged off for the rest of the day. They’d acquired a few haunts in Toronto over their past few visits, but Purdey found him in none of them, earning nothing but apologetic shrugs for her troubles. So the last thing she expected when Steed radioed was for him to say Gambit’s rented TR7 had been spotted outside one of the city’s most notable tourist attractions. 

Purdey climbed the Baldwin Steps and bypassed Spadina House, sure that the intel would be wrong. But there he was, leaning against the stone wall of the veranda behind the stately home-cum-castle that was Casa Loma, with the city spread out before him. He didn’t turn as she approached, didn’t acknowledge her, but she knew he knew she was there.

She hadn’t asked about O’Hara, and he hadn’t told her much more than that he knew the Irishman from some unspecified time in his past. But tangling with the man again, being responsible for putting him away, had obviously brought back some memories.

“I just need some time,” he said finally, after almost ten minutes of silence. “To…I don’t know. Process.” He flashed her a quick, tight smile. “I’ll be all right.”

She nodded and turned back to the view. “It’s quite beautiful here,” she observed, deliberately allowing the thread of the conversation to drop. 

“And quiet,” Gambit added distantly, but there was a warmth to his voice that told her he knew she understood, and that he appreciated it.

“I’ve always wanted to come here,” Purdey went on, propping her elbows up on the ledge. “I might do the tour later.” She looked to Gambit. “You don’t mind if I stay on until it starts?”

“No,” Gambit confirmed. “I’d like the company, if you’re willing.”

Purdey smiled, and they stood in companionable silence for the next hour or so. Then they _both_ did the tour.


	5. Emily, Mark II

Waiting for the scorching hot piece of metal that, miraculously, still bore the handprint of the Fox to sufficiently cool before it could be safely picked up by their unprotected hands, Steed, Purdey, and Gambit watched the infuriating car known as “Emily” burn up in a fiery inferno with no small amount of satisfaction. 

“What happens now?” Purdey asked eventually, slipping off the scarf draped around her neck and debating whether or not to bother retying it now that it was soaked through with Gambit’s blotted sweat.

Steed sighed thoughtfully. “If memory serves, we start walking in search of the nearest phone box or kind soul willing to give us a lift. And about halfway through, Gambit starts fantasising about mixed saunas with licensed bars.”

Gambit grinned unapologetically. “Then Steed turns into an amateur botanist and starts collecting specimens.”

“And, in a pleasing example of synchronicity, I also start fantasising about mixed saunas with licensed bars,” Steed finished, exchanging a knowing smile with his younger colleague.

Purdey looked on with an expression of quizzical distaste. “I have a feeling there’s a story behind all that, but I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“You were kidnapped at the time,” Gambit offered helpfully.

“Blessedly, it seems,” Purdey shot back, squelching Gambit’s grin in the process.

“I suppose the first order of business is to put the fire out,” Steed went on, ignoring his younger colleagues’ gentle bickering.

“With what?” Purdey asked, quite reasonably. “There isn’t any water nearby, and even if there were, all the buckets and things are in there.” As if to emphasise the point, a small explosion engulfed Emily in a wall of flame.

“I can see the headline now,” Gambit said morosely. “‘Visiting British Agents Burn Down Half of Ontario.’ No wonder the Canadians asked for independence.”

Purdey was thoughtful. “Maybe we could fashion one of those divining rods. They’re supposed to lead you to water.”

Gambit regarded her sceptically. “How much of that hooch did you drink?”

“It always works in the films,” Purdey snapped back. “I don’t see you making any brilliant suggestions.”

Steed was scanning their surroundings with a keen eye. “There must be another way, something we’ve overlooked.”

Without warning, a heretofore unnoticed underground sprinkler system sprang to life, bathing the entire field in a heavy spray. The trio leapt backward in surprise, narrowly avoiding a drenching, while in the distance, Emily hissed and sizzled as the flames encompassing her were well and truly doused. They watched the smoke curl skyward for a moment, before Purdey and Gambit simultaneously looked at Steed. The senior agent regarded them in bemusement. “Can I help?”

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Purdey voiced the question for them both.

“If I told you I didn’t, would you believe me?” Steed replied enigmatically. “But our luck certainly seems to have taken a turn for the better.” He nodded toward the road they had veered off earlier, where a cheery blue Volkswagon Beetle was currently trundling toward them. Much frantic armwaving ensued, to which the car responded, pulling to a halt just short of the spray. The driver’s door opened and an attractive brunette alighted, quickly taking in the now-sodden field, the three agents, and the still-smouldering car.

“Hello,” she greeted, in a clipped Ontario accent. “I see you’re having some, er…” She surveyed the damage with a hint of unease, “…car trouble?”

Steed was wearing his most charming smile. “Indeed we are, my dear, and we’re indebted to you for coming to our aid.”

The woman seemed to relax a little. “Oh, you’re English,” she laughed in relief, as though that explained everything. “But you’ve gone the wrong way. This is Vaughn. Niagara Falls is back there.” She jerked her thumb over the shoulder.

“We’re not tourists,” Purdey corrected, somewhat indignantly, and not entirely due to the woman’s misapprehension. “We’re here on official business.” She nudged Gambit in the side. “Gambit, show her your ID.”

“Why don’t you show her yours?” Gambit wanted to know.

“Because I don’t have mine. Now hurry up!” 

Gambit sighed and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, extracted his card and offered it to the girl, whose eyes widened as the full implications of her current situation suddenly became apparent. “Oh, my. Well, I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She looked up from the card and seemed to see Gambit properly for the first time, smiled broadly. “Mr. Gambit.”

Gambit took his cue, and turned on the charm. “That’s very kind of you, Miss…?”

“Oh, you can call me Emily.” All three agents winced involuntarily at the name, much to her dismay. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, sorry, pure reflex action,” Gambit soothed. “We’ve had a bit of a day. Is there somewhere close by with a phone we could use?”

“You could use mine,” Human Emily, as she had been instantly dubbed in all three agents’ minds, replied. “I’m only fifteen minutes away.” Her expression turned apologetic. “I only have room in my car for one of you, though, I’m afraid. I’d have to come back for the other two.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” Steed assured. “You’re offering to do much more than we’d ever dream of asking. I’ll let one of my colleagues accompany you, and I’ll stay behind to watch the…car.” He looked meaningfully from Gambit to Purdey, who understood immediately. Despite Human Emily’s offer of help, no one was willing to risk letting a complete stranger drive off with the handprint.

“I’ll go,” Purdey volunteered, stepping, rather conveniently, between Gambit and Human Emily. “I’m sure you can cope without me for an hour or so.”

“Actually,” Human Emily interjected, “I think Mr. Gambit should come, since he has the ID and everything. What if he needs to talk to the police or something?”

“Oh, you’re good,” Gambit praised, eyes dancing, and Human Emily blushed a little. It was then that Purdey cleared her throat rather loudly, and Human Emily shot her a look that singlehandedly upended every Canadian stereotype about “niceness”.

“Excellent! Then it’s settled.” Steed rubbed his hands together delightedly. “Gambit, I’ll leave you in capable hands.” This earned a snort from Purdey, which was resolutely ignored by all parties. “We’ll be here waiting for you just as soon as you can make it back.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Gambit told Steed, then turned to Purdey. “Cheer up, Purdey-girl. All this fresh country air is doing wonders for your complexion.”

Purdey watched Gambit traipse off with Human Emily who, rather unnecessarily, had taken his arm, with her own arms crossed tightly. Her mood was not improved by Gambit’s jaunty salute just before he disappeared into Human Emily’s car and off down the road. Steed appeared at her shoulder, followed her line of sight.

“Given how Canada’s treated him of late, I rather think he’s earned it, don’t you?” he said jauntily. “Keep an eye on the handprint. I’m off to see if the Blue Periwinkle has a Canadian cousin.”

Purdey glared at Steed’s back as he sauntered off through the grass, then turned her glare on the car at the centre of the whole debacle. “I don’t know what you’re so pleased about. You’re going straight on the scrapheap the second he gets back. And so does your friend.” With that pronouncement, she returned to the handprint and flopped down in the grass, determined to sulk at least until they got back to London.


	6. Complex Emotions

“Oh,” Gambit exclaimed suddenly, as the trio waded through the flooded computer room that was Scapina’s water-logged brain under the shelter of Steed’s brolly. “I should have thought of it earlier. Purdey, you’ll need this.” He shrugged off his leather jacket and helped her slip it over her own shoulders. “It’s a bit wet, but it’s less, uh—“

“Transparent?” Purdey finished wryly, well-aware that her white top and shorts had turned clingy and see-through in the downpour. She’d been so happy that Scapina had been rendered harmless in the deluge that she hadn’t particularly cared about what the water would do to her ensemble. But with the wail of sirens outside signalling the arrival of emergency services, she was suddenly painfully aware that rather a lot of prying eyes were going to be on the street. She pulled the jacket more tightly closed 

Gambit cleared his throat. “Right,” he agreed gruffly. “Not that I was looking, of course.”

“Of course,” Steed concurred, shaking water droplets from his brolly as they stepped into the sunlight. “Purdey, we can debrief you later, when you’ve dried out. But I rather think Gambit ought to run you back to the hotel for a change of clothes.”

For once, Purdey didn’t argue about being ushered from the scene. Her fringe was dripping into her eyes and half-blinding her, and she pushed it aside impatiently. “Yes, all right. We’ll meet later?”

Steed’s suit was already drying in the summer sun, tailoring seemingly impervious to the elements. “Of course.” He nodded at Gambit. “You don’t mind, do you? Only she doesn’t have a car.”

Gambit, who had been stealing concerned glances at Purdey for the past five minutes, started in surprise. “No, of course not.” He fumbled in his pockets for his keys.

“Looking for these?” Purdey fished the ring out of one of the jacket pockets, and much to her surprise, Gambit blushed.

“Er, yes, that’s them.” He took them from her and cast a beleaguered look at Steed. “Let us know how you get on.” He ushered Purdey to the car before Steed could reply.

“What’s wrong with you?” Purdey wanted to know, as they slid into the TR7 and Gambit put it into gear. 

“Nothing,” Gambit said defensively, eyes fixed out the windscreen, jaw working overtime. “I’m…I was worried we wouldn’t get to you in time, that’s all.”

“Well, you did,” Purdey reminded, zipping up the jacket and settling into her seat. “And I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Gambit looked at her now, concern writ large over his features. “You’re awfully pale.”

“Am I?” Purdey pulled down the sunvisor to see the mirror, took in the colourless hue of her cheeks. “Well, the water did rinse off all of my blush.”

“You’re trembling, too,” Gambit pointed out softly.

“Gambit, I’m completely drenched. Of course I’m trembling!” Purdey snapped indignantly. “In case it hasn’t occurred to you, the city doesn’t heat up the water before using it to put out fires.”

“Okay, okay,” Gambit acquiesced, gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly with anxious hands. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Purdey huffed, crossing her arms in what she told herself was indignation, not to hide her shaking hands.

They arrived at the hotel, and Purdey fixed her still-damp hair as best she could in the mirror before they went in. They beat a hasty path to the lifts before they could attract too many curious glances. But it was when Gambit hit the call button and they were waiting for the lift that Purdey looked at the floor indicator, remembered the last lift she tried to step into falling into oblivion, and felt a cold knot of fear form in her stomach. She turned to Gambit suddenly and asked, “Can we take the stairs?”

“We’re on the twelfth floor,” Gambit replied sceptically.

“You could use the exercise. Come on.” She was already moving for the door to the stairwell and beckoning him to follow in her wake.

It put their fitness to the test, mostly because Purdey made them run, but they made it without much incident. Gambit, shoulders heaving slightly, laid a hand on Purdey’s shoulder half in support and half to brace himself while he recovered. “I don’t know if I’m more soaked with water or sweat,” he muttered, tugging at his shirt, which was now clinging to his torso. “Either way, I need drying off. You can find your way back to your room?”

“Yes,” Purdey said automatically, then surveyed the abandoned hallway that stretched ahead, as desolate as any in the heart of Scapina. Gambit was starting to walk the other way, toward his room, and she suddenly whirled around and caught his arm. “No!”

Gambit froze in surprise. “Purdey…”

“Come with me to my room.” The words came out in such a desperate rush that Gambit didn’t even think to respond with a quip about how long he’d been waiting to hear her say that.

“Purdey, you’ve gone white as a sheet,” he said with obvious concern. “Should I call a doctor?”

“I’m fine,” Purdey said unconvincingly, nails digging deep into the flesh of his arm. “Just come with me. Please.”

“It’s all right. I’m coming.” Gambit covered the hand on his arm with his, smiled reassuringly. “Lead the way.”

She nodded in appreciation at being given control, guided him to her room even though he knew very well where it was. She stood before the door and fumbled in her shorts’ pocket for the key, extracted it with shaking fingers. She tried, unsuccessfully, to insert it in the lock, and was about to make another attempt, but Gambit reached for it before she could. “I can do that.”

He knew something was really amiss, because she relented without protest, or even a wry comment. He unlocked the door and guided her inside with a reassuring hand on her back to sit in one of the plush armchairs situated in the suite. Once he was sure she was safely ensconced, he disappeared to the bathroom and returned with a stack of fluffy towels, handed her one for her head and another for her body. Purdey started to dry her hair, and Gambit picked one off the pile and moved to the bathroom, but Purdey called out in alarm. “Where are you going?”

Gambit froze midstride. “Er, I got a bit of a soaking, too. Didn’t get under Steed’s brolly quickly enough. I thought I’d sop up the worst of it before I went back to my room.”

“In there?” Purdey was looking at the bathroom with trepidation.

“Yes,” Gambit said carefully. “I’m going to need to shed a few layers.”

“Couldn’t you…I mean, I don’t want to be on my own.” She picked anxiously at the knap on the towel across her knees. “When I was in there—in Scapina—it wasn’t being in danger that scared me. Not really. It was being alone. Even if a person is trying to kill you, you’re still not alone. You can look them in the eyes, you can work out what they’re thinking. There’s still a human connection, even if it’s a hostile one. But in there, fighting for my life, I was all alone. And I knew that if I died, the only witness would be a machine.” She shuddered dramatically. “That was more terrifying somehow.” She met Gambit’s eyes, almost desperate to be understood. “Does that make sense?”

Gambit moved to where she was sitting, crouched down so that he was level with her, and took her hand. “Completely.” His voice and expression were as warm as his fingers wrapped around hers.

Purdey squeezed his hand back in gratitude. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to have someone here. A person. You.” Gambit’s smile turned from comforting to pleased, and Purdey fought the urge to blush. “I mean, since you’re already here. It wouldn’t make sense to call someone else now.” Gambit looked unconvinced by her reasoning, but didn’t contradict, so she carried on as if she hadn’t noticed. “But I’d rather you didn’t go in there. We can turn around so we can’t see each other, but if I know you’re in here, with me, it won’t matter that I can’t see you.”

“I never want to leave a room if you’re in it,” Gambit said with a smile. “But I promise I won’t look. Though I’ll take it as a compliment if you try to sneak a peek of me with my shirt off.” He treated her to a saucy wink, and she laughed in spite of herself as he sprang upright and moved to the other side of the room, started undoing his shirt cuffs, back resolutely turned. Purdey rose from her chair, left the towels where they were and unzipped Gambit’s still damp leather jacket, slid it off her shoulders. As he untucked his shirt, she realised that she really ought to accord Gambit the privacy he was giving her, but somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away, even though it meant she was leaving herself exposed if Gambit turned around unexpectedly—particularly to his teasing if he found out his quip had a basis in reality. But her own pride, decency, and modesty somehow couldn’t compete with the almost-hypnotic sight of Gambit’s arms slowly working their way down as they unbuttoned his shirt. She shimmied out of her own sodden shorts, leaving them in a wet heap on the carpet. She tugged her shirt off and added it to the pile, promising herself she’d give the garments the treatment they deserved later, when there weren’t other…things…occupying her attention.

Gambit chose that moment to shrug his shirt off his shoulders, and Purdey got her first glimpse of the well-muscled back, said muscles moving smoothly beneath the skin as he extracted himself from the garment, pulling at one sleeve and then the other. The shirt descended down his toned arms, revealing taut sinews and the tell-tale traces of old injuries acquired over the years. Then the shirt was off completely, the bare flesh coming to an abrupt stop at the top of his trousers, which skimmed along the bones of the enviably slim hips. Purdey stood, transfixed, for a moment. Then Gambit bent to retrieve the towel he’d tossed over a chair and draped it over his shoulders. “Okay?” he asked, and Purdey realised he was asking if it was all right to turn around. She realised belatedly that she was standing gaping at him in her knickers.

“Just a moment,” she said quickly, hoping her voice didn’t betray her, and hurried to the bathroom to retrieve the white, fluffy robe hooked behind the door. She shrugged it on and tied the sash almost too tight, then checked to make sure there wasn’t an embarrassing gap in the garment she didn’t know about. Satisfied everything was in place, she straightened up and said, “Yes, all right.”

Gambit turned round, towel still draped over his shoulders like the world’s shortest cape, using one corner to dry his hair. He caught sight of her robe and grinned. “I was going to use that.”

Purdey bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t think about you having nothing to wear.”

“Right,” Gambit said wryly. “Nothing to do with me having my shirt off then.”

“Mike Gambit, your ego knows no bounds,” Purdey shot back, realising that she hadn’t thought about Scapina or her earlier scare for the last few minutes. Gambit was proving to be a very good distraction in more ways than one. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” Gambit pointed out, settling onto the edge of the bed, and Purdey suddenly wondered if he knew she’d watched. She put on her best poker face, but there were times that the man could see right through her and her bravado. She had a feeling this was one of those times, and bent to undo the straps of her damp shoes as a pretence for not meeting his eyes.

Gambit followed suit, unzipping his boots and pulling them off with a telltale “squish.” Purdey looked up as dumped a small amount of water onto the carpet. “These are meant to be waterproof,” he said sourly, and Purdey couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.

“For keeping water in, maybe,” she suggested, as Gambit removed the other boot with much the same result.

“Maybe.” Gambit didn’t sound convinced as he peeled off his sodden socks, then flashed a quick smile. “Not the sexiest striptease, eh?”

“It’s true that socks have never been an integral part of the act,” Purdey quipped, tucking her legs beneath her. 

Gambit arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were an expert.”

“I did go to university in Paris,” Purdey reminded, tongue-in-cheek. “There are plenty of equivalents to the Moulin Rouge for women.”

Gambit’s eyebrow arched higher. “If I’d known we’d be having this conversation, I would have taken something off earlier.”

Purdey looked heavenward. “I didn’t make a habit of it, if that’s what you mean. And anyway, there’s nothing here I haven’t seen before.” She waved in the general direction of his naked torso.

Gambit pretended to look stricken. “Lost all my mystery already, have I?”

“It’s not my fault you spend an inordinate amount of time with your shirt off while being patched up,” Purdey pointed out. “I was there when you got half those scars.”

“Wait until you hear the stories behind the other half,” Gambit said mysteriously.

“Really? Do tell.”

“You’re already bored with this much of me. I have to keep the level of intrigue as high as I can,” Gambit said blithely.

Purdey cocked her head. “Would it help if I told you that the way your mind works has always been a mystery to me?”

Gambit grimaced. “Thanks.”

Now that he was sitting down, Purdey suddenly noticed something about her colleague’s forehead. “You’re bleeding!” she exclaimed, noticing a small trickle emerging from beneath the curls tumbling onto his forehead.

“What?” Gambit frowned and touched his temple, scowled more deeply when his fingers came away red. “Damn.”

Purdey climbed out of her chair and hurried to his side, but Gambit was already waving her off. “It’s nothing serious.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Purdey countered imperiously, pushing back the hair to reveal a long, thin cut down his temple, stopping just short of his eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

“I went through the window when I visited Beresford Holt’s,” Gambit explained, wincing slightly as she investigated the damage. “I’ll be all right.”

“Maybe, but all the same.” Purdey rose and hurried to the bathroom, returned with a plaster and a damp washcloth, and proceeded to clean off the blood.

“At least you’re not talking about Scapina,” Gambit pointed out, one eye closed as Purdey pressed at the injured area.

“Thanks to your remarkable ability to monopolise people’s attention when it suits you,” Purdey said primly, taking out the plaster and sticking it over Gambit’s wound. “But this time, I’m rather grateful for it.”

“I’m glad gashing myself is helpful for once,” Gambit replied, touching the injured area experimentally. “Thanks.”

“I don’t have much choice. It seems I can’t trust you to look after yourself.”

Gambit grimaced, but dug in his trouser pocket. “All the same, here’s something else to take your mind off things.”

Purdey took the slightly-damp piece of paper and unfolded it to find two photos of an unamused Gambit, one facing the camera and the other in profile. She shrieked with laughter. “Mike Gambit, are these your mug shots?”

“The Canadian police gave them to me. I think they thought it’d prevent me pressing charges.”

Purdey bit her lip to stifle further laughter. “They’re not bad. You look quite handsome.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure that works in your favour when you’re being sent down.”

Purdey laughed properly then, head thrown back and mouth wide open. “All right, Mike Gambit, you’ve successfully taken my mind off of things for the rest of the evening.”

Gambit’s smile was soft and fond. “Mission accomplished.”


	7. In a Barrel

“Do you know what the worst part of all this is?” Purdey mused, shifting slightly in the cramped confines of their current mode of transport.

Steed, knees tucked up elegantly toward his chest, cast around vaguely for a place to store his brolly. “Well, I’ve had roomier accommodations in the past, unquestionably.”

Gambit looked up from where he was hunched over a small control panel, looking decidedly grim. “Could it be the fact that the steering mechanism’s shot?”

“There’s also the very real possibility that we won’t survive the impact,” Steed pointed out mildly. He’d found a vertical handrail and locked his brolly behind it at an angle where, he hoped, it wouldn’t shake loose and accidentally skewer one of his colleagues on the way down. 

“I’m trying not to think about that one,” Gambit said drily, fishing around for the harness that was supposed to hold him in place lest he tumble around the cabin like a ragdoll.

“Goodness, no,” Purdey dismissed, as though all of their suggestions were patently ridiculous. “The worst part is, it’s so desperately corny.”

Gambit looked up from snapping his harness into place. “Of course,” he said flatly. “Nothing worse than being corny.”

Purdey shot him a look. “Of course it doesn’t matter to you. You do corny things all the time. Half the stunts you pull are the epitome of corny.”

“Thanks,” came the dry reply.

“I’ve always wanted to see Niagara Falls,” Purdey went on. “Up close even, on the Maid of the Mist. But to go over the Falls in a barrel? It’s been done in 100 old movies. It’s a ridiculous cliché. You’d think the people we’re up against would at least be able to think of something more original.”

“To be fair,” Steed interjected, removing his bowler and tucking it securely under his bent legs, “it’s not so much a barrel as a highly sophisticated and compact subaquatic pod.”

Gambit raised an eyebrow. “I thought they knocked you out before you could find out what it was?”

“Oh, they did. I found the user’s manual.” Steed brandished a thick tome written in Russian. “I may not be Purdey’s equal in Russian linguistics, but I managed to work that much out.”

“Suppose we should have looked at that before we stole it,” Gambit mused, eyeing up the guide ruefully. “Or checked the brakes.”

“I did tell you that sign read ‘Out of Order”,” Purdey pointed out. 

“Somehow that didn’t seem important when they were shooting at us,” Gambit said wryly. “Just have to hope these pods were made for impact.”

“Barrel, Gambit,” Purdey corrected.

“It’s as claustrophobic as a barrel, I’ll give you that.” Gambit looked to Steed. “I don’t suppose you have a liferaft under that bowler?”

Steed flashed him an apologetic smile. “I wear that one with the navy suit.”

“Figures.” Gambit’s grin was grimly humourous. “I hope that steel-rimmed bowler stays where it is. The last thing we need is to pick up some concussions on the way down.”

“I shall endeavour to keep it secure. It does have the transmitter in it, after all. If we’re lucky, the Canadians might be able to find us when we reach the bottom.”

Purdey crossed her arms, unimpressed. “It’s still corny,” she declared, right before they went over the edge.


	8. Up Front Back-Up

Purdey swept her gaze down the glittering columns that lined Bay Street and focused on the lines of tiny people trundling to and fro on their perpetual commute. London had nothing to apologise for in the skyscraper stakes, but she had to admit there was something excitingly fresh and new about the Canadian city’s financial district, with its edifices of glass and concrete, occasionally broken up by a heritage building that spoke of the city’s not-too-distant past.

All the same, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she was being watched. Canadian Intelligence had shut down their automated headquarters after it was unmasked as the elusive agent Scapina, and their boffins were currently in the process of dismantling the machine piece by piece in what was proving to be a slow, agonising endeavour. Every piece of electronic or computer-based equipment in the whole facility was going to have to be replaced. Rumour had it that Ottawa was quite displeased about the whole debacle. Not only had it given their pride and joy--a sophisticated automated facility meant to put Canadian intelligence on the cutting edge of the computer age--the blackest of black eyes, but the cost to clean up, retrofit, and replace it was eating a rather sizeable hole in that year’s budget. They’d only just finished pumping all the water out, courtesy of Purdey’s life-saving dousing of the system, for which the female agent felt not the least bit repentant. Purdey wondered if they’d replace it with a similarly modern monstrousity, or if they’d plump for a more analogue operation. Even automated doors might spook the Canadian agents at this point, never mind the elevators.

The intelligence service had been relocated to the glossy new building she was currently inside until the changes were complete. Despite its newness, it was decidedly less-computer reliant than the service’s last residence. All the same, Purdey found herself checking over her shoulder rather more than she would have liked. She was glad she would be back in the field soon.

Gambit came and joined her by the window, gazed out over the sea of glass at the clear blue sky and the CN Tower standing tall, dwarfing all the skyscrapers clustered around it. They stood in silence for a moment, before Gambit said, “So…”

Purdey grinned. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Gambit’s forehead was creased with bemusement.

“I knew you were going to say that. You don’t have to be psychic to work it out.”

“So?” Gambit pulled a face. “A lot of people start a sentence with ‘so’.”

“Including you. Twice.”

“So?”

“Three times.” Purdey couldn’t hide her grin. Jet lag and a few less-than-cordial run-ins with police only made Gambit that much easier to wind up. “And anyway, if that doesn’t impress you, I also know what you’re going to say after ‘so.””

“Really?” Gambit crossed his arms expectantly. “Go on.”

Purdey deliberately looked back out at the city. She wouldn’t be able to keep the smug expression from creeping onto her face if she was looking at Gambit as she said it. “You’re going to say that you don’t like the idea of me going undercover to look for the Fox while you’re all the way in Ottawa, haggling with the Minister on Steed’s behalf.”

To her surprise, Gambit didn’t seem miffed at being so easily read. His arms dropped to his sides resignedly. “Can you blame me?”

“A little.” Purdey tried, and failed, to keep the edge out of her voice. “I am trained for this sort of thing, you know.”

Gambit shook his head. “We all are, but undercover ops can always go sideways, and the Fox’s lot won’t hesitate to kill you the second you’re discovered.”

“I have read the file,” Purdey pointed out tartly, crossing her arms as she turned to face him.

“That makes two of us.” Gambit’s jaw was tight, the way it was when he was really worried. Purdey felt a little of her indignation drain away in correlation with his concern. 

“I won’t be all on my own. Steed will be keeping an eye on things. It is his operation we’re running after all.”

Gambit nodded. “I know. I’m glad for it. But I’d feel better if I was there too. Can never have too much back-up.”

“Would you feel the same way if it was you going in and not me?” Purdey wanted to know, tilting her chin up defiantly.

“Knowing I had both you and Steed on the other side? Definitely,” Gambit said flatly, then flashed her a quick smile. “I get into trouble sometimes. You might have noticed.”

“Usually it involves being on the wrong end of a bullet,” Purdey said without malice. “But it’s not that you think I can’t handle it?”

“Just as well or better than any of us,” Gambit replied frankly. “But this job doesn’t play fair. We’re all at risk. Always.” He took a long breath in through his nose. “I think it’s harder to sit on the sidelines. At least when you’re in the thick of it you can call the shots. But when you’re just sitting there waiting—“ He swallowed hard. “Look, every time I’ve rescued you, I’ve been terrified I’m going to be too late. But at least I could do something, try to get to you. But if I’m all the way in Ottawa, I’m not going to be any good to you at all. And that scares me.”

Purdey raised an eyebrow. “You’re scared?”

“Terrified.” His smile was crooked. “Probably more than you.”

Purdey stepped in close, smoothed his suit jacket. “You’re sure it’s not the prospect of sitting cooped up in a government office with the Minister that has you quaking in your boots?”

Gambit laughed in relief. “Maybe. At least I know where I stand with a bullet. Politicians are something else.”

“You do know Steed has a lot of confidence in you?” Purdey pointed out. “To send you in his stead to liaise between intelligence agencies and smooth the way for the next round of joint assignments? It’s a compliment. He’s telling you you’re ready to move up the ranks.”

“I know,” Gambit sighed. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. We’ll see if it’s misplaced.”

“It isn’t,” Purdey declared, straightening his tie.

“Thanks. Even though I think you’re just trying to get rid of me.” Purdey grinned back cheerfully. “Just come back in one piece, okay? By the time I’m finished out there, you’ll need to scrape me off the floor.”

“As long as you buy me dinner first,” Purdey allowed.

“Deal.” Gambit leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Give them hell, Purdey-girl.”

“I intend to. And you’re wrong, you know. If I do get in trouble, you’ll find your way back in time, even if you have to run all the way back from Ottawa.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Gambit said ruefully. “These are new shoes.”


	9. Checking In

Purdey couldn’t help but think of the conversation she’d had with Gambit a few days ago as she sat, perched on a rotting old crate, attempting to jimmy open a locked door with a hairpin. This relatively simple task, which Purdey had completed on several occasions with little or no trouble, was made more difficult by the fact that the room she was locked in—a storage room that was really more of a glorified broom closet—was almost pitch black inside. There were no windows, and the single, bare light bulb that was meant to illuminate the interior had burnt out long ago, much to Purdey’s disgust. Only the thin strip of light creeping in beneath the door gave the shadows a hint of shape, and it was under these conditions that Purdey was attempting to set herself free. She had had some matches, but her captors had taken them off her before locking her up, which really was inconvenient, and annoyed her no end. She could have used them in her near-dark lockpicking excursion—even intermittent light from a succession of matches burning up into nothing would have made her foul mood a little bit better. To be fair, her state of mind wasn’t solely attributable to the lack of light. There was also the small matter of her execution, which her captors had made clear to her would occur just as soon as someone in charge arrived and decided whether it was worth interrogating her first. Purdey was trying not to think about that particular salient fact, though it kept drifting into her mind unbidden. Purdey scowled and jimmied the lock a little more aggressively.

It had all been going so well. She had successfully insinuated herself into the gang of spies who worked for the Canadian double agent known only as “the Fox”. Purdey’s cover was as a British courier, replacing the real woman who was meant to carry stolen documents from Toronto back across the pond to London at the Fox’s behest. Her goal was to uncover the Fox’s identity while performing the tasks his gang doled out for her as she waited for her precious package to arrive. Purdey thought it had all been going rather well, and was definitely of the opinion that she was making headway with the Fox’s gang, her charms proving just as effective in Canada as they did at home. Frustratingly, none of the Fox’s people knew who he was any more than she did, which made things rather difficult, but that didn’t stop Purdey from trying. Keeping her ears and eyes open, she gathered every scrap of information she could on the agent and his—if he was a he—operation, in the hope that it might give her a clue as to his identity. It might have worked, too, if one of the Fox’s people hadn’t received a rather incriminating package in the mail that just so happened to contain her personnel file. She might have made a run for it, but even she couldn’t take out that many guns when they were all pulled at once and all aimed at her. So now here she was, locked in a dark room with the promise of certain death hanging over her head. She was feeling extremely uncooperative and wasn’t going to tell them anything, so the prospect of mercy was basically nil, even taking her own assessment of her charms into consideration. That left her with her hairpin.

Well, not only that. Purdey was meant to call in periodically, a signal to Steed that she was all right. At designated times, Purdey would phone what she told her so-called accomplices was her business partner. The calls were undoubtedly monitored, but that was all right as they’d worked out a code in advance. When she failed to call in, Steed would know she was in trouble. The only problem was Purdey’s next call wasn’t due for another two hours. Purdey had the sinking feeling that her execution would be over by then, and she had no other means of sending Steed a distress signal before then. So back to the hairpin.

That was all right. Purdey was confident that she could find a way out of her current predicament on her own. This was what she had signed up for after all, and it certainly wasn’t her first life-threatening situation. She wasn’t about to lose her head now.

All the same, she was starting to understand what Gambit meant when he said just knowing someone, or multiple someones, were out there, waiting to step in and help if they were needed, was comforting. She couldn’t deny that, in the past, the knowledge that there was a chance that Gambit might arrive in the nick of time to pull her fat out of the fire and get her out of whatever mess she’d gotten herself into had been reassuring, a sort of unconscious insurance policy that gave her licence to be just that much more daring. She knew Gambit wouldn’t be able to effect a miraculous rescue in time. Mike Gambit could do a lot of things, but even he couldn’t cross 450 km in a matter of minutes—even with his driving—though he’d probably try if he knew what was happening now. Her mind drifted, unbidden, to an image of Gambit as he was now, ensconced at a conference table with the Minister and countless other bureaucrats, jaw locked to resist the urge to make a clever comment, even as his eyes betrayed his obvious frustration with the whole arrangement. Perhaps she’d have to rescue him in the end, if only to save his sanity. The idea made her smile, the mental image of sweeping in, bringing the meeting to an abrupt end, and sweeping out again with an awed, grateful Gambit in tow too much to resist. It was then that the lock suddenly clicked, and Purdey realised that her cheerful train of thought had spurred her on. She carefully replaced the hairpin, took a deep breath, and got ready to run.

Hours later, Purdey was at the safehouse, securely ensconced in one of the upstairs rooms just above the door where she’d nearly been gunned down. If Steed had been just a fraction of a second slower in answering the door…Purdey shivered and tried to forget about it. She was all right now, warmed from a nice long bath and dressed in a comfortable pair of pyjamas. She was just about to turn in for the night when she heard a soft knock on her door.

“It’s open,” she said, and wasn’t surprised when the door eased inward and Gambit’s head popped in.

“Hello, Purdey-girl,” he greeted softly. He sounded tired and strained. “Want some company before you turn in?”

“Don’t you mean, ‘I’m lonely and want an excuse to ask about your undercover assignment without you getting annoyed?’” Purdey replied knowingly.

Gambit smiled wearily, eyes only half-open. “I’m not sure what I mean at this point, to be honest. But if I say yes, can I come in?”

“All right,” Purdey relented, shifting over on the bed. “If you collapse in my doorway, I’ll never be able to close it for the night.” 

“Thanks,” came the exhausted reply, as Gambit dragged himself across the room toward the bed.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Purdey warned, as he flopped backward onto the bed with little grace.

“That’s what all the girls say,” Gambit quipped automatically, eyes closed, causing Purdey to snort derisively. 

“I’ll roll you onto the floor,” she vowed.

“Suit yourself,” Gambit mumbled. “Just roll a pillow after me.”

Purdey crossed her arms in annoyance. “Mike Gambit, all you did was spend the day in a conference room, and you act as though you’ve been put through wringer. You do realise that I was nearly killed today?”

“Yes,” Gambit confirmed, eyes closed. “But I knew you wouldn’t talk about it unless you brought it up yourself, even if I asked.” He opened one eye and gave her a knowing look. “And now you’ve brought it up, so I’ll ask. Are you okay?”

Purdey shifted uncomfortably, both from Gambit’s perceptiveness and having to address what had happened that day. “Well, I wasn’t killed.”

“I’d worked that out for myself,” Gambit said blithely. “If you were, you’re the healthiest ghost I’ve ever seen.” His flippancy suddenly slipped away. “Steed told me you were minutes away from execution. If you hadn’t gotten yourself out…” He trailed off, shuddered involuntarily. “And there I was in Ottawa, where I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

“Yes, well, as you said, I got myself out of it,” Purdey said briskly, examining her fingernails with interest.

“Thank heavens for that,” Gambit concurred. “I don’t think the world would fare too well without you, Purdey-girl.”

Purdey flashed him an appreciative smile. “Certainly not after you managed to cause an international incident in Ottawa. Who’d clean up your mess if not me, Mike Gambit?”

Gambit chuckled, the bed vibrating slightly in response. “It wasn’t that bad, believe it or not. I’m not saying I enjoyed it, but I managed to negotiate the ins and outs of a deal between our intelligence agencies for half a dozen operations, and no one threatened to arrest me once.”

Purdey whistled. “That’s two days in a row. A Canadian record!”

“Ha ha,” Gambit managed, closing his eyes again. “Funny how I still feel like I’ve been used as a punching bag.”

“That’s because you have,” Purdey said brightly. “Metaphorically.”

“It’s the metaphorical blows that hurt the worst,” Gambit groaned, easing his way up on his elbows. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a metaphorical massage.”

“I think I might give you some very real bruises,” Purdey said sweetly, and Gambit laughed. Purdey cocked her head in bemusement. “You’re very cheerful for a man who’s just been shot down.”

“It’s because you shot me down that I know you’re all right,” Gambit said simply, sitting upright and laying a hand on her shoulder. “You did well, Purdey-girl.”

“I know,” Purdey said without false modestly.. “And you’re acting like an old mother hen, so I know you’re all right.” She smiled down at him knowingly. “You’re okay, Gambit.”

“You’re not bad yourself, Purdey,” Gambit replied, following the script from their bout in the gym during that nasty business with Mark Crayford. A lifetime ago. 

“Are you spending the night here at the safe house, too?” Purdey wanted to know.

Gambit nodded. “Down the hall.” He grinned wickedly. “Planning on paying me a midnight visit?”

“Wondering if I should find my earmuffs,” Purdey quipped back. “You snore.”

Gambit pulled a face. “I do not.”

“You do. I’ve heard you,” Purdey declared with confidence borne of experience. “If you could face away from the door when you go to sleep, I’d appreciate it.”

“If you want me to leave, you’re going about it all the wrong way. I’m seriously considering staying on this bed just to spite you.”

“You’ll wake up with a pillow over your head,” Purdey warned.

“I’ve slept through worse,” Gambit said cheerfully, but Purdey was up and had a grip on his ankle, was pulling with all her might. “Okay, okay,” he surrendered, as he slid alarmingly down the length of the bed. “I’m going.”

Purdey straightened up and dusted off her hands. “All you needed was a little persuasion.”

“You’ve always been very good at that,” Gambit agreed drily, easing himself upright with a groan. “Do me a favour and don’t wake me up the same way. It’s been a long day.”

“I can’t make any promises. But I will save you some coffee.”

“A great kindness, to be sure,” Gambit pronounced theatrically, and Purdey giggled in spite of herself, took his hand and helped him up.

“I have my moments.”

“All the time,” Gambit said fondly, moving for the door. “Sleep well, Purdey-girl.”

“You too, Mike.”


	10. Squirrel Girl

“Steed should be out in a bit. He’s still haggling with the ambassador about the security arrangements since Sminsky’s lot were arrested.” Gambit settled onto the bench next to Purdey, then did a double-take. “What are you eating?” he asked in disbelief.

Purdey looked up from skewering a massive heap of chips smothered in gravy and what looked like cheese curds, all piled precariously in an open styrofoam clamshell. “Poutine,” she explained. “They’re mad for it here.”

Gambit squinted at the concoction. “Looks like chips, cheese, and gravy.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Purdey confirmed, offering him her plastic fork.

Gambit took it and stabbed at a clutch of potato and sodium. He didn’t bother to wipe the fork off first, Purdey observed, and she wasn’t planning on cleaning it when she got it back either. That level of familiarity had been easily reached a long time ago. Gambit put the chips in his mouth, chewed them thoughtfully. “I had something like this up North once,” he commented around his mouthful, handing the fork back to Purdey.

“Oh yes?” Purdey took the fork back and picked out a bit of cheese. “What do they call it there?”

“Chips, cheese, and gravy,” Gambit informed blithely.

“How creative,” Purdey said dryly.

“Don’t look at me,” Gambit defended distractedly, flicking a chip at one of the city’s preternaturally large black squirrels, which were particularly numerous in the grounds of the Ontario’s legislature. The creature leapt at it and scurried off happily with it in his mouth. “Where did you get that, anyway?”

“I passed a food truck selling it,” Purdey explained around another piece of cheese.

Gambit glanced around. “In the middle of Queen’s Park?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Purdey chastised. “It was on Bloor Street.”

Gambit’s frown of disbelief deepened. “But that’s a 20 minute walk!”

“I went for a jog,” Purdey went on. “You were taking an awfully long time. You didn’t expect me to sit here waiting for you, did you?” She ate some more chips. “There were some doughnuts as well, but I gave your half to the squirrels.”

“I wondered why you were willing to share. You’ve already had one course.” Gambit glanced at his watch. “And we only had lunch three hours ago.”

“An eternity,” Purdey declared. “I’m already planning where to go for dinner.” The squirrel, apparently far from satiated, returned and sat upon its sizeable haunches at Gambit’s feet. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Purdey advised. “And he’s insatiable.”

“You have a lot in common.” Gambit plucked another chip from the pile and tossed it to the animal. 

“We have been getting on rather well. I’ve named him Teddy. I thought about naming him after you, but I despise cruelty to animals.”

Gambit slanted an unamused eyebrow at her teasing. “Planning to take him home with you?”

“I did think about it.”

“I’d watch out. Teddy might pick your bones clean while you’re sleeping.”

“I was planning on giving him to you if he got out of hand,” Purdey said brightly. “You’re always complaining about being lonely.”

“I’m not sure I can afford to keep both of you fed,” Gambit countered. “Unless he can earn his keep. Think we can train him to track the enemy?”

“Possibly. I picture the pair you becoming a fine fighting force,” Purdey fantasised. “Although he might need help filling out the reports.”

“It’d give him something to chew on,” Gambit quipped, and Purdey groaned at the bad joke. 

“Finish the poutine,” she told him, handing over the clamshell. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Gambit pulled a face, but he didn’t refuse it.


	11. Under the Stars

“Ah, Gambit, the water’s ready.” John Steed dextrously unhooked the battered old cast iron kettle from where it hung over the crackling campfire, careful not to let the tea towel he was using to protect his hands drag into the flames. He spotted the curl of steam escaping from the spout and beamed. “Ahhh,” he praised. “Excellent.”

“Just in time,” Mike Gambit opined cheerily, emerging from the sturdy tent pitched a few feet behind Steed, carrying three sturdy metal mugs and a jar of coffee. He settled companionably down next to Steed on the log that served as their seating. “These were all at the bottom of the pack. Took awhile to dig them out.” He unscrewed the lid and poured a measure of coffee into each mug in turn, handing them off to Steed he did so. “These have seen a lot of service,” he observed of the cups.

“That’s an understatement. I’ve had them for over thirty years,” Steed told him, pouring the boiling water from the kettle into the mugs. “I bought them shortly after the war. I was in Canada then, too, though not in this particular park. It wasn’t my first time in Canada, but I hadn’t been here in peacetime for some time, and I couldn’t properly appreciate it until I was off-duty.”

“I didn’t know that,” Gambit said mildly, taking one of the mugs Steed handed back and stirring the contents with a spoon. “Did you see the sights?”

“Fishing,” Steed clarified. “I was rather careworn by the time things wound down, as you might imagine. Spending my days in a boat on a particularly serene lake, and my nights sleeping under the stars…Well, if it wasn’t paradise, it was very near to it.”

“I can believe it,” Gambit agreed, sipping the coffee and savouring the way it warmed him against the slight evening chill. “We can all use some peace at one point or another.”

“Irrefutably.” Steed sipped his own coffee, the cups now all filled, and looked heavenward for a moment, then turned to his younger colleague. “Especially in this line of work. Which reminds me. You told Purdey earlier that you’d been to Canada before.”

“A few times,” Gambit confirmed. “Mostly when I was in the navy, when they’d give us a short leave. But I came back after I quit motor racing, backpacked my way up and down the length of the country. Lots of hitchhiking, and I was hungry some days. But it was beautiful and it cleared my head, helped me work out my next move.” He grinned suddenly. “I wasn’t nice to be near, though.” He saw Steed’s bemused expression and elaborated. “That’s the thing about hitchhiking. Not always a shower close at hand.”

Realisation dawned. “Ah,” said Steed. “Hopefully our contact will arrive before we’ve reached that level of desperation.”

Gambit chuckled, and the two agents went back to drinking their coffee in companionable silence. Their peaceful coexistence was suddenly and rudely shattered by a violent rustling in the bushes. Gambit and Steed exchanged alarmed glances. “Bears? Moose?” Steed hissed urgently. “There were warnings for both on the road on the way in.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think we were going to be here long enough to find out,” Gambit whispered back, drawing his trusty Smith and Wesson. “Let’s hope this does a good impression of a rifle if it is.”

They waited with bated breath as the rustling got closer and closer. Gambit’s thumb eased back on the safety and took aim, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Then the branches parted to reveal—Purdey.

“Mike Gambit, if you shoot me I’ll never forgive you,” the female agent chastised, taking in Gambit’s gun barrel aimed, unsociably, at her.

Gambit eased the safety back into place and holstered the weapon with a relieved sigh and a rueful smile. “Sorry. We were expecting moose or bears, not birds.”

“I’m not sure you should be allowed out in nature unsupervised,” Purdey sniffed at the pun, clomping toward them through the bush. She was resplendent in the onesie she’d picked up at the Hudson’s Bay Company, done up in the old fur-trading institution’s signature colours of red, green, blue, yellow, and white. 

Gambit picked up his mug and nodded at Steed. “He’s been keeping an eye on me.”

“I’m not sure that’s much better. I think you two enable one another.” Purdey flopped down beside Gambit, who noticed for the first time that she was clutching a large handful of twigs.

“Planning on weaving some rustic furniture?” he quipped.

Purdey stuck her tongue out at him. “No,” she declared, turning and crawling into the tent, where she proceeded to rustle around. “But seeing as you’re so interested…” She re-emerged with several packages, thrust a box of graham crackers and a packet of chocolate into his hands. “I am not leaving Canada without having s’mores,” she told his bemused expression. “You put the chocolate on the crackers, and Steed can make them into sandwiches.”

“And what will you be doing?” Gambit wanted to know, already opening the box of graham crackers. He knew better than to argue with Purdey.

Purdey had a packet of marshmallows at her disposal, and tore them open with relish. “I,” she began, picking up one of her sticks and proceeding to skewer marshmallows along its length, “will do the roasting, of course.”

Gambit watched her slide the marshmallows onto the skewer with almost childlike glee, and smiled in spite of himself. “Of course.”

“Well, come on then,” Purdey encouraged, popping an uncooked marshmallow into her mouth even as she thrust the stick into the fire. “I don’t have all night.” And Steed and Gambit dutifully buckled down to work, as the stars twinkled overhead.


	12. Hands On

There was a strange paradox about Purdey that Gambit had noticed many times during their time together. Well, there were several, really, if he was being honest. Purdey herself was a paradox, wrapped in an enigma, sometimes with a dash of mystery on the side depending on her mood. But the particular quandary he was wrestling with was her attitude toward physical contact. Putting a hand where it wasn’t wanted was an easy way to get one’s back broken in three places where Purdey was concerned. Their easy familiarity meant that Gambit was exempted from that harsh treatment, but Gambit’s attempts to initiate any kind of physical contact had always ended in a swift dodge or a quick withdrawal, and Gambit’s respect for her wishes meant he never pushed or pursued her further. But when it came to Purdey herself, there was a very different philosophy at work. She had a tendency to get “handsy” with him when it suited her. Sometimes it made sense—taking his arm in the sewers when the magnitude of what they were dealing with finally registered with her, or hugging the same on an evening out in Paris when the world seemed momentarily at rights and there was nothing to concern them but mirth and bright lights. But the more meaningful instances were when she did it automatically, unconsciously, expressing an innate comfort with and, dare he think it, affection for, him. The way she’d tugged on his tie after that episode with the doubles for one, or the way her hands always seemed to be pressing against his arm or back as they fled the 19th special commando. She’d done it again, here in Canada, as they fled the roaring flames of the blazing Emily, although this time it was his hip that came in for the treatment. He might not have thought much about it if it had been only that: a sign of the ease with which they operated as a partnership. 

But there had been another, rather interesting occurrence, just a few weeks earlier, when they were investigating Colonel Sminsky’s so-called “gladiators.” Stopping by a shop where one of the locals had tangled with a Sminsky recruit—and paid the price—Gambit found himself on the wrong end of an understandably jumpy Canadian police officer when he reached for his ID. The fact that Purdey volunteered to extract it from his back pocket was probably innocuous in itself—a means of preventing an international incident. But it was when she put it back that things seemed rather…prolonged. Because in returning the billfold to his rear pocket, she had placed one hand quite firmly on his derriere to pull the pocket open, and then proceeded to slide, and slide, and _slide_ the wallet deeper into the pocket’s recesses, her hand following it as it went. All told, her hand moved up and down inside his pocket more times than he could count while he carried on his conversation with the policeman. Either Purdey was very, very concerned about his ID falling out of his pocket, or she was rather enjoying herself.

Gambit still wasn’t completely sure which it was, or, more importantly, what it meant. Purdey could be maddeningly circumspect about these things at the best of times, let alone if she was directly asked. It might have meant nothing. But then again, it might have meant something, a discreet signal that she was open to more than friendship. Gambit desperately wanted to ask her, but he was afraid to get his hopes up, didn’t know if he could take having them dashed on the rocks yet again. His poor heart could only take so much battering. And yet, the sensation of Purdey’s fingers sliding into his back pocket had stuck in his mind. Sitting across the table from him while they waited for lunch, Purdey looked up from perusing a case file and regarded him quizzically. “Gambit, what is it?”

“I wish I knew,” Gambit responded cryptically, wondering whether it was worth potentially losing his wallet by leaving it on the table, just to see if she’d do it again.


	13. For a Few Dollars More

Purdey sat in the passenger seat of the red Triumph TR7 that was Gambit’s current mode of transport on their sojourn to Canada. Gambit’s attention was unusually preoccupied with his driving at the moment; between the change in the side of the road he was meant to be driving on, navigating a new city, and their current assignment, his already jetlagged brain was overtaxed. That was why Purdey had offered to go to get some supplies, while Gambit spread his map out on the car’s bonnet and knocked back the blackest of black coffee in an attempt to trick his body into thinking it was really four in the afternoon and not nine o’clock at night. Most of what she’d bought was completely necessary for the task at hand, but she’d seen one or two souvenirs that she fancied along the way, and since Gambit had said she could charge the supplies to his expense account, well, it didn’t make much sense to charge her things separately, did it?

Gambit looked away from navigating Yonge Street to glance at her, and she grinned back with something less than innocence. She could see the puzzled crease appear between his eyes, but the need to attend to his driving kept him from pursuing any inquiries he might have made.

Purdey kept grinning as he turned away. How he was going to explain the jug of maple syrup, three pairs of high heels, soapstone carving, and tiny model of the CN Tower to the people in the Ministry’s finance departments was beyond her, but it would unquestionably be fun to watch.


	14. Swans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: This is the last of the lot, and really ought to have been posted last year as we've passed the 40th anniversary of TNA in Canada. Think of this as a little 2018 bonus. :-) I hope you enjoyed these vignettes celebrating TNA's Canadian foray. I have other fics in the pipeline, so hopefully I'll start posting some of those soon.  
> \-----

Purdey pulled Gambit's cardigan more tightly around her shoulders. The wind was whipping off Lake Ontario and finding its way into all the gaps in her wetsuit. She stood side by side with her colleagues as the shell-shocked Canadian coast guard rounded up the Russians and investigated the large, submergible base that had somehow escaped their attention for the past eight years. Everything else aside, Purdey was relieved that Steed finally believed Gambit and her weren't going mad, what with all their jabbering on about agents wading into the lake and popping up a few hours later shot to death. She was ruminating on the bizarreness of their latest excursion to Canada when Gambit broke the grey, watery silence.

"Well, one thing's for sure. I'm never going to look at Brighton Pier the same way again."

"I think you speak for us all," Steed concurred, turning a cheery smile on his two younger colleagues. "Why don't we find a nice pub to shelter from the wind?"

"You read my mind," Gambit said wearily. "Are you coming, Purdey?"

"Maybe later," Purdey said airily. "I thought I might go to the park and feed the swans."

She wasn't entirely sure if it was her imagination, but both Gambit and Steed suddenly seemed to age five years.


End file.
